Circadian Rhythm
by eggsaladstain
Summary: As punishment for his crimes, Grant Ward becomes an Active. Agents of SHIELD/Dollhouse AU.
1. One

I.

Life in prison or 15 years as a Doll. That's the choice The Council gives him. A life sentence without the possibility of parole, or the next decade and a half as anyone but himself.

It's not much of a choice. Ward has spent so much of his life assuming other identities, what's another 15 years? He signs his name on the crisp sheet of paper without hesitation and just like that, his life as he knows it is over. In the end, this is what his existence amounts to - a stack of paperwork.

An agent ushers him into the operation room where Coulson and Skye are waiting. Her chest rises as if she's about to say something, but then a frown settles over her face and she pulls her mouth into a tight line. It's probably better this way. It's too late for words.

A voice tells him to take a seat and make himself comfortable, and Ward almost scoffs. He's sure his comfort is high on their list of priorities as they wipe his mind clean. Still, he has to admit that the chair is surprisingly comfortable. The power of ergonomics.

Skye returns to his field of vision as he leans back in the chair. He wonders if he'll ever see her again after this. Not that it really matters. In a few minutes, she'll be a stranger, and that's the thought that unsettles him the most. He doesn't want to forget the man he was when he was with her. And more than that, he's afraid, terrified, of the man he'll be without her. That man was angry, bitter, cruel. He doesn't want to go back to being that man.

The chair hums to life around him. It's time.

He focuses his eyes on Skye and wills himself to remember her. If not her face, then at least the way she made him feel. If not the sound of her voice, then at least the happiness he had when they were together. If not the feel of her lips, then at least the peace he found by her side.

His eyes are still locked with hers when a light explodes around him. He feels his body tense as pain spreads through his head, a blinding, throbbing ache deep in his temple. A soft gasp reaches his ears.

Then, nothing.


	2. Two

II.

It's more violent than she expects. Not the procedure itself, but the way Ward reacts, like his body is trying to get in one last fight even as his mind is already losing the battle.

His limbs jerks unnaturally as soon as the machine turns on, and Skye can't help the gasp that escapes her lips as she watches him writhe. His knuckles turn white from clutching the chair. His back arches so sharply she's afraid his spine will snap.

They said he would experience some minor discomfort. They assured her that he would barely feel it.

They lied.

It feels like an eternity before the light finally dims and he falls still.

The sound of deep, panting breaths reaches her ears and it's not until Coulson asks her if she's okay that she realizes the wheezing is coming from her. She nods, her focus still on Ward.

He doesn't open his eyes.

That's when she knows something's wrong.

The chair tilts forward with a soft click that echoes in the room, and she approaches him slowly, vaguely aware of a voice in the background, assuring her that his vitals are steady, that he'll be fine. But it's not his body that she's worried about. It's his mind. She can't shake the feeling that the procedure didn't work the way it was supposed to, that it somehow made him worse.

A soft groan jerks her out of her thoughts and she exhales in relief as he finally opens his eyes. But then he looks at her. And any consolation she may have felt disappears.

He's supposed to be a blank slate. He's supposed to be unburdened, untainted, at peace.

The man in front of her is none of those things. There's a fire in his eyes – a quiet, simmering rage. Instead of wiping him clean, they just erased all the gentle part of him, all the good parts, and left him raw.

She feels moisture on her face but doesn't remember crying.

_Did I fall asleep?_

His voice is quiet, but there's a sharpness in his tone. It sounds like an accusation.

If only he were still asleep. If only this were all a dream.

She chokes back a sob when she answers, a hushed whisper, an inadequate apology.

_For a little while. _


	3. Three

III.

He is called Xray. Like what Dr. Saunders does when he is hurt, to check and see if there is any _internal damage_. He gets hurt a lot, more than any of the others. But Dr. Saunders is nice and always smiles, tells him that everything is going to be okay, and lets him have a piece of candy. That makes it better. (Almost.)

The lime lollipops are his favorite. They're sour and make him feel like there is _internal damage_ in his mouth, but he eats them anyways. The other flavors are too sweet. They don't taste real.

(Sometimes, he's not sure he is real.)

…

Today, he runs six miles before lunch – steamed vegetables and grilled chicken to keep him strong and healthy. Some days he eats with Tango or Foxtrot but they're not here today. Maybe they're getting their treatments. He wonders when they will call his name.

So far, they haven't. It's always Echo or Sierra or Victor, because they're the best.

He tries to be his best.

(But maybe he's just not good enough.)

(Maybe he's not good.)

…

He sees a man and a woman sometimes. They're not from here – their clothes are different – but he has a feeling that he knows them somehow. The man looks very serious, but the woman…there's something about the woman.

She looks sad. He has never seen anyone look so sad before. Not here, where everyone is always smiling, here, where everyone is always happy. (But it's not real happiness. Not like this.)

Would she be happy too if they gave her a treatment?

(Would he be?)

…

Sometimes, he catches her looking at him. He wonders if she knows him the way he thinks he might know her. Maybe that's why she looks so sad all the time, because she knows him.

If he does know her, he can't remember. He's not sure why.

She seems like the kind of person who would be hard to forget.

(What else has he forgotten?)

…

One day, while he is painting – he likes the watercolors very much – a man approaches him and tells him it's time for his treatment.

His first treatment. He has been waiting a long time for this.

The man leads him up the stairs and shows him through a door. When he walks into the room, the first thing he sees is a chair. And that's when he feels a pain in his head, or maybe he just thinks he feels it, or maybe he remembers it. Either way, he doesn't like it.

A woman smiles at him and gestures at the chair. He doesn't really want to sit down but he knows he is supposed to, so he does and reminds himself to be strong. To be his best.

The chair tilts back and he sees a bright light and this time, he does feel pain.

It's time for his treatment.

(He hates his treatments.)


	4. Four

IV.

The thing that scares Skye the most is not that Ward is a blank slate. It's that he _isn't_. Because something that is empty can easily be filled, but something that is already full can't take any more without spilling over.

What happens when you load a new personality into a mind that is already inhabited by one? What happens to that mind? What happens to that man?

Soon enough, she gets the chance to find out.

...

It's her second trip to the Dollhouse, and this time, she wears a crisp suit, her hair pulled up into a neat bun. She's not here as a visitor this time. She's here as Ward's new handler.

Coulson was the one who suggested the assignment. He said she would be the best candidate to monitor Ward on his engagements - strategic, tactical missions only. The Dollhouse doesn't deal in fantasy anymore. Not since it became a part of SHIELD.

It would be poetic justice, The Council had explained, to rebuild their organization using the very Hydra spies who had once tried to destroy it from the inside.

Vindictive, is what Coulson called it. Inhumane.

But he was out-voted in the end, and seemingly overnight, all the Dollhouses around the globe became newly populated, with those who were once traitors reprogrammed as Dolls who would never think of betrayal again.

That is also why Coulson wanted her on the inside. So she could be his eyes and ears. So she could report back to him at the first sign of wrongdoing or abuse. So she could be his spy in the house of love.

And that's how Skye ends up on her first undercover mission in the last place she wants to be.

...

She spends the next few weeks in training - meeting the other handlers, learning the ropes, getting up to speed on the lingo.

_Active_ is the preferred term to refer to the people in residence at the House - _Doll_ is an acceptable, if crudely simplistic alternative, and _Zombie-Slave_ is strictly frowned upon.  
An _imprint_ is what they call the distinct personality an Active can assume, through a _treatment_, the sugar-coated way of describing the process of erasing someone's mind and replacing it with someone new.  
When an imprint isn't in use, it's stored on a _wedge_, a hard drive to house the human soul.

Was it really only a year or so ago that she thought SHIELD was the strangest show on Earth?

...

Working at the Dollhouse is unlike anything she's ever experienced, but by far the biggest surprise is the organization's harsh guidelines for how new hires can interact with the Actives. In short, they can't. Until her trial period is complete, she isn't allowed be alone with an Active, nor is she allowed to speak to one, nor is she allowed to make eye contact with one.

(_They have a lot of rules in place to protect the Actives_, she writes in her weekly report to Coulson. _Cautiously optimistic._)

That doesn't stop her from keeping an eye on Ward though. Except his name isn't Grant Ward anymore. It's Xray. He's called Xray now.

For the most part, he looks happy. The rage that she saw in his eyes when he woke up has disappeared, so either he's really been wiped clean or he's learned how to hide it. He always was good at hiding parts of himself. But not from her. He could never hide from her.

Sometimes, when she watches him and he notices, she lets herself break that third rule. And sometimes, when she looks into his eyes, she thinks she sees recognition. But sometimes, she thinks she sees pain.

So maybe he's not so much _happy_ as _blissfully unaware_. Except without the bliss. He's just unaware. Still, that must be better than the alternative – hopelessly miserable in a prison cell.

It's better this way, isn't it?

Is it?

...

She passes her trial period after one month and the first order of business is to create the Handler-Active imprint. A woman leads her into the room and the programmer explains the basics of the procedure, how she will soon become the most important person in her Active's life. If only they knew how she could have been that to him for real.

The door closes with a soft click and as she steps forward, she remembers the last time she was with him. Just like the last time, she's standing, watching, while he sits in the chair. And just like the last time, his eyes never leave hers.

She picks up the piece of paper with the script, inhales slowly, and gently takes his hand.

_Everything's going to be alright_, she recites.

His voice is steady when he answers – _now that you're here – _and even if she doesn't quite believe her words, she knows that he does.

Her hand shakes ever so slightly as she continues. _Do you trust me?_, she asks, but what she really means is not a question, but a command. _Trust me_.

And when he answers – _with my life - _she knows that he does.


End file.
